Before & After: The Untold Stories of the Victors of Panem
by OffMyHead
Summary: All we know is but a page in their books. The Victors of Panem so loved and so tortured still have stories untold. Who were these people before their misfortune lead them into an Arena? And, how did it change their lives when they stood alone in that same Arena and crowned as the Victor? In this story, all the undone knots will be tied into one coherent tale of struggle and victory
1. Finnick Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY**

**IT BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

**Finnick**

**One**

"Remember, son, under, across, over and then pull." Mr. Ross was pulling a net full of crabs onto the boat as he instructed Finnick. It was a very hot afternoon, perfect for collecting the nets they had set the previous night. Finnick loved to tag along with the fisherman and Mr. Ross loved the company of the kid, so he tied a life vest on the kid's chest and hoisted him on board with him. He set the net down and decided on caging the crabs later on when they were back on shore. "That's the last of it!" He announced and the boy of eleven, with glinting bronze hair squinted up at him. He was sitting on one of the crates for packaging and exporting. His hands rose into the air, clutching onto the knot he was focusing on. "Let's see what you got there, partner." Mr. Ross knelt in front of the boy to examine is work. It was a small bit of rope he had cut from the anchor line. He took the rope in his hand and it unraveled on his palm.

"Show me how you did it again." He ordered and the boy took the piece of rope back and pulled one end under the other and then started to pull it over. "Across, boy, across!" He bellowed and tousled Finnick's hair. The boy did as he was told and finished the knot perfectly.

"Thanks, Mr. Ross." Finnick grinned. "Is that the last net?" He rose and walked over the crabs, almost slipping on the wet wooden panels.

"Be careful there, wouldn't want Old Jean to come running up my door and giving me an earful about your safety on board." Ross said hurring up to Finnick and picking him up.

"Sorry, Mr. Ross." Finnick said, smelling the fish odor that seemed to follow Mr. Ross around all day.

"This is the last net for the day." Ross said, setting Finnick down on one of the benches. "We're on our way back to shore."

Ross instructed Finnick to sit tight, which meant that from this point on, until they reach land, Finnick wasn't allowed to stand from the bench. The boat would be moving really fast and the floor was really wet. Mr. Ross didn't want to present Finnick to Madame Jean with yet another busted lip and broken nose.

Finnick loved the ocean. He liked the feel of being away from the District and being all alone with the water, despite Mr. Ross. Among the hundreds, perhaps thousands of fishermen on Pier Nineteen, Finnick liked Mr. Ross the most. Mr. Ross sometimes let Finnick use one of the rods while he collected the nets and cages from the water, something the other fishermen would never let him do even if he begged. Most of the time, Mr. Ross would teach him how to tie knots. "Knots make or break your fishing skills, boy." He said when Finnick first set foot on the boat. Finnick had doubted the truth of what he said but went along with it because he wanted so bad to go see the ocean for the first time. So, Mr. Ross gave him a piece of rope and talked about the importance of tying knots all the way into the middle of the ocean where Finnick had watched him pull a great big fish out of the water with a net

Mr. Ross claimed he made himself. Mr. Ross was an old and balding man. The only patch of hair left on his head was on the very top and if you tried really hard, you would be able to count the gray strands poking out of his scalp. Mr. Ross has missing a finger, the smallest one on his left, which, he told Finnick, he lost to a great big king crab. He was a kind old man who made a living out of selling the fish he caught in the wet market near the center of the District. Sometimes, if they made it to land before sunset, Mr. Ross would grill two of the smallest fishes and would let Finnick have his own piece of fish. Finnick would eat his fill, feeling grateful that he wouldn't have to eat the horrible dinner that Madame Jean always set on the long table.

The boat had hit land and Finnick took one last look toward the horizon and saw the vast ocean and the sinking sun.

He didn't want to leave the boat. He didn't want to be anywhere else. But Mr. Ross came down to pick him off the bench and help him down the ladder. Finnick's feet sank into the damp sand and when he pulled out his foot, his slipper had been left buried. He bent to pick it out and slipped it back on. The sand got in between his toes and he wriggled them. When he rose, he found Carson waiting for him on the Pier.

"Thanks Mr. Ross." Finnick said looking up to the boat as Ross hobbled down the stairs.

"My pleasure." Ross said, taking a breath after climbing down the ladder.

"I'll see you again next week, okay?" Finnick smiled. His two front teeth were missing and it reminded Ross of his own son when he was that young.

"You bet I will." He smiled. "Practice your knots, boy. Remember it's across after under and before over."

"Under, across, over, pull." He recited, feeling confident.

"Run along now, Carson's waiting for you."

"I hope you know that I am missing my show." Carson said with an irritated voice when Finnick finally caught up to him. Carson liked making Finnick feel bad about convincing Madame Jean to let him go on boat rides with Mr. Ross once very week. Carson is Madame Jean's one and only son. He's tall and has bright blond hair. As far as Finnick knew, Carson spent the whole day watching television and kissing his girlfriend even after Madame Jean had told him not to be doing that in front of Finnick and the other children. "By all means, walk slower!" Carson called when Finnick, with his small feet and short legs fell a few steps back. "You know how much Mother likes it when we're late for supper!"

"Did you have a good day with Mr. Ross, Finnick?" Madame Jean greeted him when he and Carson entered through the big brown doors. She and Carson had the same blond hair, although her's was already graying. Madame Jean was an old woman but she kept active by taking care of the foster kids and cleaning the big house they all lived in. Carson ran up the stairs and banged the room of his door closed.

"I did, Madame Jean." Finnick answered.

"Good." She said, taking his hand in hers. "Now get yourself cleaned up, we're having dinner soon."

"Thanks, Madame Jean!" He called as he sprinted up the stairs and up to his room. Finnick slept with four other boys. He'd known them all his life. He walked down the hall, passing about a dozen doors before reaching his own. He opened the door and Bert greeted him. Bert was at least a foot taller than Finnick. He had platinum blond hair and dark blue eyes.

"Finally!" He gasped. Finnick ignored him and grabed his clothes from the drawers installed under his bed. "We have been waiting for you for dinner."

"You know I always go fishing with Mr. Ross this time of the week." He shrugged. "I don't know why you guys don't just eat without me."

"You know how Madame Jean is about meals." Jason answered. Jason was about Finnick's height. He slept on the bed next to Finnick's, "Besides, we've been waiting for you because we've got news."

Finnick was about to leave the room to get dressed for supper but the two boys pulled him back.

"Can't it wait?" He grumbled. "It's supper time, remember?"

"Observe." Jason raised his voice.

"I can't believe you didn't notice it when you went in the room." Bert scoffed. Finnick looked around the room and by the two beds nearer the opposite wall, two suitcases were packed and locked. Finnick looked back at Bert and Jason.

"Yup." Jason nodded. "A rich couple came over today and signed adoption papers for Marc and Vince. They've been trying to have kids for a long time but there's something wrong with either of them. Apparently, Loreta heard, they were the owners of that big seafood exporting business. Can't have it all I guess!"

"They got _both_ of them?!" Finnick gaped at the two empty beds and the packed suitcases.

"Yeah!" Bert nodded. "Couldn't believe it either. Originally though, they planned on getting Marc only but they saw Vince the other day and decided to adopt him too!"

"But Marc and Vince don't even get along!" Finnick shaked is head. "Where are they?"

"Oh their new parents took them out for supper and promised to come back here to say goodbye to everyone. That's why they left their suitcases here." Jason said. They heard the dinner bell ringing from the dining room and Bert and Jason bolted out of the door. Finnick wondered if he would have been in Vince's place if he hadn't been fishing today. He wondered how it would feel to one day have no parents and with one swift motion across some papers, have a mother and a father forever. Next year he would be twelve years old.

Old enough to enter the Hunger Games.

Most of the kids here were younger than him. He is one of the few who will be shopping for Reaping clothes in the coming year. Bert and Jason's birthdays were coming some weeks after his. Vince and Marc already had their birthdays. They were the oldest foster boys in the house. He wondered if having parents would make it easier to go through the Reaping, or if it didn't really make a difference at all. He took a deep breath and decided that it was a problem for some other day. Finnick got dressed and quickly followed the other kids through the hall and down the stairs.


	2. Finnick Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY**

**IT BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

**Finnick**

**Two**

Finnick woke with the feeling of dread in his stomach. Today was the day. He forced his eyes open and sat up on his bed. Bert and Jason were still snoring on their beds. Finnick thought about going back to bed but decided otherwise. Madame Jean would be waiting for me, he thought. He got on his feet and creeped out of bed and gathered his clothes. In the bathroom he ran into Carson.

"Morning." Carson said. "Up so early, aren't you?"

"Madame Jean is taking me to the shop today to buy some clothes." He said.

"Oh that's right!" Carson rolled his eyes, smiling. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks." Finnick said and got into one of the cubicles to shower.

"Hang in there, Nicky." Carson said through the closed door of the shower. He didn't say it in a mocking tone. Finnick thought that maybe Carson understood how he was feeling. Carson was seventeen years old, a year from now, if he's not chosen in the next next Reaping, he'll be free from ever having his name in the glass bowl. Finnick was jealous.

* * *

"This looks good, doesn't it? Very handsome." Madame Jean was holding out a navy blue suit in front of Finnick.

"It looks a bit big for me." Finnick shrugged. In fact, it looked about _two _sizes too big for him.

"It has to be a bit big for you." Madame Jean said. "We only have enough budget to buy you kids one set of formal wear each. You'll grow in to it." I'll only grow into it if I don't get reaped first, he thought to himself. Finnick reached for the hanger and made his way to the fitting room. The sleeves had to be rolled up three times in order for his fingers to peak out of the seams. The suit itself could have wrapped around his torso twice and the pants slipped about seven inches past his feet. Madame Jean looked at him from top to bottom and nodded her head. "Alright." She said to the salesman. "We're taking it."

* * *

"How does it look?" Finnick asked Bert. He wore his Reaping attire the moment they got home. It was already noon but Jason was still sleeping. Most of the time, he doesn't wake until it's lunch time.

"Now you've got two reasons to hope that you're not reaped next month." Bert laughed. Finnick removed his coat and sunk on his bed.

"Well, how does yours look?" He asked. Bert rummaged through the only closet they had in the room and took out a dark brown suit and green tie.

"I'll look like a tree, man." Bert said and they both laughed and Jason turned in his bed.

Madame Jean rang the bell calling for suppertime. Finnick stripped out of his suit and hung it properly in the closet in between Bert's and Jason's. They're going to welcome another child into the foster home tomorrow and Madame Jean wanted them to get a good night's sleep. They ate their meal and as a treat, had cake for dessert to celebrate Finnick's birthday.

"How old do you think the new kid will be?" Jason whispered in the darkness of their room.

"I bet it'd be a baby." Bert said. It was a pretty good bet. Most of the children who end up in foster care were infants whose mothers died during childbirth and who had no other family to take care of them. Sometimes, a baby would be left on their doorstep in a small basket covered in blankets and crying its eyes out.

"Yeah, you're probably right." Jason said.

"I wonder how Vince and Marc are holding up with their new parents" Finnick thought aloud.

"Don't know." Bert said, shifting under his sheets. They all fell into silence. Finnick closed his eyes, wishing that he didn't need to get older than eleven. But that of course was impossible.


	3. Finnick Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY**

**IT BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

**Finnick**

**Three**

_Be quiet_, he thought to himself as he crawled out of bed. The sun was yet to rise but Finnick could no longer sleep. He slipped into his only pair of shoes and tip toed past Bert and Jason's bed. He pulled a jacket over his shoulders, closed the room door behind him and glided down the stairs. He exited the foster house through the kitchen door and went around the massive building.

Finnick was going to visit Mr. Ross. It was that time of the week again but it usually didn't begin with him waking up at dawn. Finnick would wait for Carson to wake up and when he does, he will bring Finnick to the Pier where Mr. Ross would be waiting. But today, Finnick could not wait. He felt that life was too short to wait for Carson to wake and so he took it upon himself to wake up earlier than everybody so Madame Jean would not find out that he was walking around the District alone.

He kept his head down and pulled the hoodie over from his shoulders. He reached the Pier and took a deep breath of the air that almost always smelled of fish and salt water. He spotted Mr. Ross loading up the nets and cages into the boat.

"What are you doing here, boy?" Ross coughed when he saw Finnick approaching him. He didn't see that boy Carson anywhere.

"I just thought I'd come here earlier." Finnick shrugged. "Seeing that today is the Reaping I thought maybe we could start early."

"We won't be gone for long." Ross said, ushering Finnick into the dock. "We best be back earlier to prepare you for it." Finnick only nodded. The knots in his stomach made it hard for him to talk. "You have your clothes ready?" Mr. Ross asked while releasing the boat from the pier.

"Madame Jean and I bought it from the store last month." Finnick said.

"Hold your head high, Finnick." Mr, Ross said, patting his back rather too hard. "It won't be you."

"But what if it is?" Finnick croaked out. He hadn't spoken to anyone about this. It will be Bert, Jason, Vince and Marc's first time too and none of them were asking about what they'd do if they were Reaped so Finnick kept all the fear to himself.

"Then you'll fight." Ross said, not looking to the boy. "And fight hard."

Finnick did not know how to fight.

* * *

"Alright boys and girls, single file now." Madame Jean called. There were loud calls of good luck from the balcony and she looked up to find all the young children clenching onto the railing. The children in front of her were all quiet. Bert, Jason, Finnick, Vera, and Loreta. In the back was her precious son, Carson, looking like he hadn't a care in the world despite his very pale face and the shaking hands in his pockets. "Let's go." She said and began walking toward the Justice Building.

A magnificent stage has been built in front of the Justice Building. It was so beautiful that Finnick had almost forgotten why they were there. There were silver blue curtains installed on either side of the stage. In the center stood a golden number four. There were chairs on the stage too and, at the very front of the stage, almost standing near the edge were two short pillars and on top of them sat two glass bowls.

Finnick felt like fainting then.

"I'll leave you here. I'm going back to the house to take the children with me when I come back when the ceremony has begun." Madame Jean stopped walking and faced them. "May the odds be in your favor." They thanked her quietly and then joined the crowd of children filing into the space allotted for them. The rush of movement slowed and Finnick saw up front that they were checking identities. To his left, Vera tensed.

"What is it?" Finnick looked to her.

"They're taking blood." She squeaked.

"Madame Jean said it's just a little prick." Finnick said, taking a deep breath. "It will only hurt for a second." He took her hand in his and pulled her lightly and she began walking alongside him. He went first and offered his index finger to the peacekeeper and after his blood revealed that he was in fact Finnick Odair, walked slowly so that Vera could catch up to him.

"I'll see you later." Finnick whispered to her as they reached a cross road in order to separate the girls from the boys. "Good luck."

"Good luck." She whispered back.

He stood with the other twelve year old boys who were gathered farthest from the stage. He tried to find Bert or Jason but they were lost in the sea of children. It took a few minutes to get all the children assembled and Finnick spent the time reassuring himself.

_My name is only in there once_, he repeated as a mantra. _It won't be me. It won't be me._

The seats on the stage have all been filled. He recognized their mayor and the lady who won the 9th Hunger Games. A man now stood in between the two pillars. He wore a suit that had the same color as the curtains. He straightened his silver bowtie and cleared his throat.

"Welcome!" Markus Brox said, raising his arms in greeting. "Welcome to the Reaping!"

As soon as his hands fall back to his sides, a projection of a video appears behind him. Markus steps to the side and Panem's anthem begins to play. When it ends, Markus takes his spot at the center of the stage again. His white, almost silver hair reflected the camera lights.

"Alright let's begin. Ladies first." He said, leaning toward the bowl on his left and raising his palm out, his fingers outstretched to show that his hands are empty. He sunk his hands into the pile of papers and took a piece from the very bottom. The whole district fell silent. Markus brought the piece of paper to eye level and read the name clearly, "Emily Jenson."

A few of the girls released a small scream. To his far right, Finnick saw a girl walking toward the isle that separated the boys from the girls. Emily Jenson was the only daughter of Derick and Emma Jenson; she was eighteen years old. If only she were lucky enough to survive her last year in the reaping, her name wouldn't have been picked and she would have been able to put the Hunger Games behind her. The odds were clearly not in her favor. She was shaking, her face was pale and her lips were almost blue. She was wearing an elegant pink gown that fell on her ankles. Her black hair was in a high pony tail and was swinging behind her as she took her steps toward the stage. She climbed up the steep steps and Finnick saw that her face was now stained with tears. In the audience, someone was crying. A woman. Finnick imagined that it might be Emily's mother.

"Excellent!" Markus exclaimed as Emily finally made it to his side. "Welcome, to the 63rd Hunger Games, Ms. Emily Jenson! Now, we move on to the gentlemen."

Markus took the same hand and sunk it into the glass bowl to his right. Finnick felt as though time had stopped. He was standing in the middle of an immense crowd of boys, all sweating, all shaking. He could hear their thoughts in his brain.

_Not me, not me._

_Don't pick me._

_Keep it together._

_Breathe. Breathe._

It took him a moment to realize that all of those voices were his. His hands were clutched in fists and his eyes were stinging because of the sweat that had fallen past his eyelashes. Markus was rummaging through the papers and after a few moments stopped and pulled out a piece of paper. He made his way back to the microphone, the thump of each step louder than ever in Finnick's ears though he was far from the stage. Markus raised the paper as he did with the girls' and read, "Vince Herron."

Vince was standing not too far from Finnick and he felt the crowd shift to make room for him. Finnick looked over to him, feeling relieved and scared at the same time. Marc was standing next to Vince and now he understood why their parents had suddenly decided to adopt two boys: an heir and a spare.


	4. Finnick Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY**

**IT BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

**Finnick**

**Four**

Vince and Emily were standing on the stage. Vince was only twelve but he was almost as tall as Emily who as eighteen and wearing heels. They looked like statues to Finnick; their marble faces casted in the white spotlight that only exaggerated the lines of worry on their faces. Markus was standing between them, waiving as the cameras panned out from the stage. "Any volunteers?" Markus asked us but there was no sound or movement. After a few minutes the air that seemed pregnant with gratitude and guilt and fear, mixed in one turbulent tornado that swept past the quiet District. When no one spoke up, the curtains started to draw and the last thing Finnick saw was Emily dropping to the floor and the cameras quickly zooming into her colorless face as she hit her head hard onto the marble flooring of the stage. There was a collective gasp. The curtains stopped closing and they all waited for Emily to move. Medics have made their way through the crowd and up the stage. They prepare a syringe and stab it through her thigh. A few seconds pass and Emily opens her eyes and blink.

"What happens to her now?" Finnick heard himself say.

"Nothing." The boy next to him answers.

"But she fainted." Finnick said. "There must be something wrong with her. Maybe she's sick."

"Doesn't make a difference." The boy shrugged. "She still goes into the Arena."

The people around him were starting to turn back, ready to go back home and celebrate for not being reaped. Finnick found himself rooted to the ground.

_What if it were me?_ He thought. He didn't know anything about hand-to-hand combat. He had no weapon of choice. He was even scared when it was his turn to prep the meats for meals because it meant that he'd have to use knives.

"Finnick!" He heard a familiar voice call him. It was Bert. He was standing a few feet away from Finnick, already walking back to the meeting place where Madame Jean and the kids will be.

"Vince." Finnick gasped when he reached Bert.

"I know." Bert answered, shaking his head. "His parents and Marc must be in there saying goodbye." He said pointing behind them to the Justice Building.

"They've only known those people for a few months." Finnick said. They saw Madame Jean waiving to them. Carson, Jason, Vera and Loreta were already there. Some of the other kids were crying.

"Quickly now, children." Madame Jean said when Bert and Finnick arrived. "It's time we go back to the house."

"What about Vince?" Jason asked. "Aren't we supposed to say goodbye?"

"Only families say goodbye to Tributes, Jason." Madame Jean answered. As long as Finnick remained an orphan, he wouldn't have anyone to call family. Not officially, anyway.

Supper that night was quiet. No one felt like talking. A few weeks from now, they will see Vince in the Opening Ceremonies, days after that, they will watch how he fairs in the Arena. Finnick finished his food and asked to be excused. He made his way to the kitchen, taking is plate with him and washed them in the sink.

_I need to learn how to fight_, he thought. Preparing for the Hunger Games by training was illegal but some people do it, why shouldn't he? He made a mental note to ask Mr. Ross to teach him how to use a spear, or a knife at the least. That night, Finnick laid on his bed, turning the rope in his hands idly. Make knots and untying them to make a different one. When he woke the next day, the rope was loosely clutched between his callusing fingers. The sun came peaking through their window and Finnick got to his feet and set out to sneak out to see Mr. Ross again.

* * *

"Teach me how to use a spear." He said to Mr. Ross who was standing high in his boat.

"What?" He coughed.

"I see you fish with a spear once in a while." Finnick said, squinting against the rising sun. "I want to learn. Can you teach me?"

"Does Madame Jean know you're here?" He asked him. Finnick shrugged. "Why do you want to learn anyway?"

"I can help with the fishing." Finnick said quickly. Ross raised an eyebrow, sensing the lie. "You won't have to pay me." Finnick appended.

"Come back next week, like you're supposed to." Ross said to the boy. "We'll talk about this then. Go on now."

Finnick sulked back to the house and took off his muddy shoes before entering through the kitchen door. Madame Jean was cooking breakfast and turned to face him, startled at his unexpected entrance.

"Where have you been?!" She asked, setting the spatula down on the counter.

"I just went out for a walk." Finnick lied and made his way out the kitchen.

"Young man." Madame Jean called, "You very well know the rules of this house. Children are not allowed outside between eight in the evening and six in the morning."

"You're not my mother." He grumbled to himself, making sure to keep his voice low so that she wouldn't here, and then said, "I know. I'm sorry, Madame Jean. It won't happen again." _I won't let you find out the next time_, he thought but did not say out loud. He was already half way up the stairs.

"Good." Madame Jean. "You'll clean the roof gutters for a week because of this."

"Not fair." Finnick said, turning back to her. "I went for a _walk_. I felt overwhelmed because of the Reaping."

"Alright." Madame Jean sighed and called him down. Finnick obeyed and, to his surprise, Madame Jean had embraced him. "I'm sorry you had to go through the Reaping. It must have been difficult. I'm sorry you're here and not with a family. But please, be home when I tell you to be home. It's not safe out there."

"Thanks." Finnick whispered, feeling like a child. "I'm really sorry."

"You don't have to clean the gutters if you don't want to." Madame Jean said, wiping her hands on her apron. "You should go back to bed, breakfast is in a few hours. From the looks of the dark circles under your eyes, it seems that you hadn't slept well."

"I can clean the gutters later this afternoon." Finnick said and smiled.

"You're a good kid Finnick, I'd be lucky to be your mother if I had the chance." She said and looked like she really meant it. Finnick felt bad for lying to her but if he confessed, Madame Jean won't let him see Mr. Ross anymore and he wouldn't learn how to defend himself so he quietly retreated back up the stairs and into his room.

* * *

"Here." Mr. Ross passed Finnick a blunt ended stick. "First lesson: sharpen that with this." He handed a small knife to Finnick.

"Why don't I just use the knife?" Finnick asked.

"Because this particular knife will rust if it sinks in water." Mr. Ross sighed. "Do as I tell you."

Mr. Ross still thought that Finnick was doing this to learn how to fish. In the Arena, I would just tie the knife to the stick, he thought but began to press the edge of the knife to the blunt end of the stick. He had just started to make his next stroke when Mr. Ross started to click his tongue in disapproval.

"You sharpen in a circular motion." He said, "Don't push the knife on one side of the stick only." He took the stick and broke it in half. He returned one half to Finnick, produced another knife from his pocket and started to sharpen the other. In very quick motions, the stick had a smooth and sharp end. "Just like that." He said to Finnick. He spent the rest of the boat trip breaking the stick in half and sharpening both ends of the shorter piece. He went home with splinters on his palm, thinking that it would be a terribly long process before he can actually learn how to capture and kill prey, or rather, enemies.

* * *

"What's up with your hands?" Jason said looking over Finnick's shoulder as he tried to pick the splinters from his fingers.

"Nothing." Finnick shrugged Jason off.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Jason smirked. "Anyway, Madame Jean told me to tell you that it's your turn to clean the porch tomorrow so wake up early."

"Yeah okay." Finnick said, reaching for his piece of rope to make his knots. Jason began rambling about how excited he was to go back to school. When school started, Madame Jean excused them from having to do chores. Finnick blocked him out and focused on his rope.


	5. Finnick Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY**

**IT BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

**Finnick**

**Five**

"A good net is made of strong knots." Mr. Ross announced as he handed a fairly large net to the boy. Finnick was seated at the edge of the low bowsprit, his feet dangling off the piece of wood. "Now, open up the net and drop it under the water. When it moves, I want you to spear through the animal. Quick and clean."

"What if I fall?" Finnick shivered. He was fond of the ocean but knew very little about swimming. All he knew he could do was flail around in order to hopefully keep his head above water.

"Then swim." Mr. Ross said as if it were the easiest thing ever. Finnick looked at him with such a worried look. "Don't tell me you live in Four and don't know how to swim!"

"No one ever taught me." He tried to smile. "Being in foster care doesn't include free swimming lessons, so I never learned."

"Drop the net." Mr. Ross said and Finnick extended his arms over the bowsprit, ready to let go. "No, not in the water. Bring it here." Finnick crept carefully from the bowsprit and jumped down to the deck. Mr. Ross picked him up with one strong arm and plopped him into one of the lifeboats. He took hold of one of the pulleys and got on the boat himself.

"What are we doing?" Finnick asked.

"I can't very well drop you into the water from this height, can I?" Mr. Ross gruffed and began pulling on the pulley. The boat began to descend from the ship. "We're going closer to the water so you can learn how to swim."

"What about life vests?" Finnick gawked. "And I don't have my swimming clothes with me!"

"Oh, bugger off." Mr. Ross waived a hand as the boat finally hit the surface of the water. "Just take off your shirt and jump in."

"What do I do if I drown?" He asked.

"First rule of swimming: don't drown." Mr. Ross smiled revealing his browning teeth. Finnick did as he was told and stood on the boat. "It's easier than you think, boy. Just relax and focus on the slow current of the water and let it take you away." He outstretched his arms like a bird. Finnick thought that it was an odd comparison but didn't say anything about it. He took a deep breath and jumped.

The water was extremely cold. Suddenly, he was completely underwater. He kicked his feet and began to rise.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Mr. Ross said when Finnick rose to take a breath. "Alright now, swim! I want you to get passed the front of our ship."

"I don't know how!" Finnick spurted out salt water from his mouth. "I don't know!" He was flailing now.

"Relax!" Mr. Ross said, "Go on your belly. Point your toes, arms in front. Kick your feet and bring one arm around your side. When the first arm has done a full circle, do the same with the other! If you need to breathe, bring your head to the side, make your chin touch your shoulder and breathe in air." Finnick did his very best to do as he was told but after swallowing about a gallon of salt water, he had to climb back into the lifeboat. He was breathing deeply, trying to catch his breath.

"Tell me, boy." Mr. Ross placed a gentle palm on Finnick's shoulder. "Why are you asking me to teach you all of this hunting and swimming?"

"I need—" Finnick coughed. "I need to learn how to fight." They were in the middle of the ocean, certainly no one will hear his motive. "I don't want to die when I'm chosen."

"How are you so sure you'll be picked?" Ross said. His own daughter had made it out of the Reaping safely and was now married.

"I'm not." Finnick shrugged. "But what if I am?"

"You know this is illegal." Mr. Ross answered.

"No one will think you're teaching me how to fight." Finnick said with a small voice. "They'll think you're teaching me to take over your business or something."

"Get back in the water, son." Mr. Ross said. "Next week, I'll teach you how to use a trident."

Finnick felt like a god. He was striking every shadow that passed his line of sight. The water would barely make a splash and he'd arch back and lift the rusting trident through the surface of the water, revealing the fish he had killed so skilfully. He raised his prize up to his face, slick and emerald green, squirming against the point that Finnick buried into the center of it's short body. He removed the fish from his weapon and threw it over his shoulder where it landed on a pile of dying seafood.

"I think we're good for the day." Ross said, patting his palm on Finnick's back. The young boy set the trident carefully on the wooden floorboard of the boat. "You're getting a sunburn. Madame Jean would not like that."

"She'll hardly notice." Finnick shrugged. It had been weeks since Madame Jean had paid any attention to him, after all, he was one of the oldest in the orphanage. There were other children who needed her more.

"I guess we won't be seeing each other next week." Ross said kneeling down to collect the fish Finnick had caught into a clear plastic bag filled with ice.

Vince's body would be arriving next week.

He died in the blood bath. Stabbed through the neck by the boy from One who he had crossed to reach a set of knives in the Cornucopia. He didn't die instantly. For a few seconds, the camera found him laying on the edge of the mountain range, gasping for air that would never pass his destroyed trachea. He was crying and you can see his eyes start to cloud over as the life left his frail body. Madame Jean had cried that night. The other children were tearing up too. But Jason, Finnick and Bert all stood still in the television room, feeling all too stunned with the death of some one they had so recently shared a room with.

"Maybe I'll drop by." Finnick said, finally. Thinking again that the ocean would be a nice escape when he felt trapped in the orphanage.

"Well, I'll be at the pier just the same." Ross smiled. "Don't let Madame Jean catch you." He had liked having an apprentice to train and hopefully trust with the business in the future. Once Finnick had mastered swimming, he had gotten around the trident fairly quickly. Ross was very impressed. The Retiarius style type of hunting had long been forgotten in Four. Nets were made to capture live animals which were just captured and sold fresh in the markets. The practice so difficult to master and so tedious to perfect had been buried deep in history. Finnick was an exemption and Ross had seen right through the boy. If by some horrible twist of fate that he were Reaped, at least Finnick would have a fighting chance. He had taught the boy how to make spears from sticks and stones without any aid from knives or other weapons. He had forced him to perfect his knots. Luckily, mastering the trident was the easiest of all challenges for the boy.

"I'll see you around." Finnick said as they docked on the pier. Carson was already waiting for him.

* * *

"Don't pretend like no one here knows what you're really doing." Jason scoffed one night after they had all packed their school stuff in their backpacks. Bert had fallen asleep on his desk, drooling on the essay he'd been working on for about three hours.

"What?" Finnick scowled. He felt older now even though only ten months had passed since the Reaping. He was definitely stronger. He could raise a twenty-five pound trident with a single arm and pull a cage filled with hundreds of crabs directly out from the ocean floor. He could hold his breath longer underwater and could swim farther into the horizon if Mr. Ross only let him.

"You're training." Jason whispered. "You know that's illegal."

"I'm only helping Mr. Ross with his job. It's work, not training." He said throwing his backpack underneath his bed.

"Are you getting paid for it?" Jason asked curtly.

"No."

"Then what are you really doing?"

"Leave me alone, Jason." Finnick said and pulled his blanket over his head.

"What have you got to lose anyway?" Jason said. What _did_ Finnick have to lose? He had no family. No one special. He had no one to fight for, no one to come home to if he won the Games. The only thing he had running for himself was the money he would earn if he became a Victor.

"I'd like to have a chance at life." He whispered but Jason didn't hear him.


	6. Finnick Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY**

**IT BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

**Finnick**

**Six**

"Finnick, you're late!" Madame Jean shook Finnick awake and he blinked against the bright lights on the ceiling of their room. "Get up!"

"What?" Finnick grunted and propped himself up on his elbows. A single piece of rope is still clutched in his hand.

"Get up!" Madame Jean repeated as she began to pull out some clothes from Finnick's drawer. "Get dressed, you're late for school!"

"Crap." He jumped to his feet and took the clothes Madame Jean threw on his bed.

"I have never been so disappointed, Finnick." Madame Jean called after him. He doesn't bother to respond. He barged into the bathroom and quickly changed clothes and brushed his teeth.

"We'll talk about this when you get home." Madame Jean said with crossed arms when he got out of the bathroom. His hair was unruly. There was toothpaste on this shirt and he was still in his slippers. He ran back into his room and grabbed his backpack.

"Be careful on the streets!" Madame Jean said as he thundered down the stairs.

Finnick was up until dawn practicing his knots. It had become a good hobby. Something to keep his mind busy and thoughts of the Hunger Games away. His knot tying skills were improving but his academic performance was suffering because of it. Finnick zipped through the immense people on the sidewalk but the school was still miles away. He had missed the bus that would make its rounds across the District to bring the kids to school. He cursed Bert and Jason for not waking him up.

The education program went like this: each District had a customized curriculum. It depends on the specialization of the District, without compromising the fairness of the games. For example, in Three, children are taught the basics of technology, the parts and functions of various machines but they are not taught how to trouble shoot or how to put together or tear apart an actual machine. In Eleven, the children are taught the basics of botany but it does not extend to specific plants that can help them differentiate the poisonous from the edible plants. In Four, they are taught about marine life and boating but they aren't taught to the extent of knowing how to use their knowledge of bodies of water to specify what kind of fish can live there. They aren't taught how to make hooks or nets or use other tools related to boating. In Panem, the educational system is restricted; everything is theoretical to keep the Games fair without compromising the opportunity of learning. If the odds are in your favor, after turning eighteen, you're allowed to enroll in a school that will offer higher education. There you will be taught all about sciences, mathematics, health, and languages, all the things you should have already mastered if the Games did not exist.

Finnick reached the school right when the alarm for the end of first break sounds. He ran through the double doors and blended himself in the crowd of children. He went into their usual classroom and sat on a desk near one of the windows. The teacher entered, wearing the regulated blue suit and set her things on the teacher's table and took a new piece of chalk and began scribbling on the board. She's supposed to be teaching marine biology but Finnick's mind was elsewhere.

_What's the point of learning all of this?_ He thought to himself. _This is so useless_. And so, he let the voices of the handful of men and women breeze through him. At the end of the day, their last teacher made an announcement.

"There will be a mandatory viewing of the Hunger Games tonight and so all homework given today can be submitted two days from now without deduction." He said. "That will be all, children. You are dismissed." Finnick didn't even know there was homework. He was grateful for the extension and quite honestly, was excited to find out what happens in this episode. This is the newest episode since the one where Vince had died. The Bloodbath is over and this is where the hard part of the Games is said to truly begin.

They don't see Emily often. Her story might not be interesting enough but she still gets some screen time. It's only fair. All tributes are given some time on screen so they all have a chance to get some sponsor's attention. Most of the time, they watch the Career Pack slice through the mountain range in search for the weak.

"Quickly now, children." Madame Jean called from the intercom. "The anthem is playing." The children silently exited from their rooms and soon the hall was filled with the shuffling feet of young boys and girls. No one wanted to watch the Games anymore. Vince was dead. But they had to watch. It was the law. They gathered in the television room. Finnick sat on the carpet in between Bert and Jason. As the anthem ended, they all held their breath.

The show began with a Career from One killing the young boy from Eleven. Knife through the heart and the boy fell to the ground, blood spilling out from his mouth. The cannon is fired and the scene changed into Emily. She was crying but you wouldn't notice unless the camera zoomed into her face. Tears were falling from her eyes but her face remained in focus. Her dark hair was sticking on her sweaty face. There ware pieces of wood stuck on her bleeding shoulder. She was picking out the pieces one by one while simultaneously washing the wound with some muddy water from a lake. She is muttering something under her breath.

"Remove all pieces with clean hands or tweezers." She whispers as though she were giving instructions. "I do not have tweezers. If it is not available use only bare hands as a last resort."

"Alright, Emily, you've seen Papa do this a thousand times in the clinic." She was talking to herself. "After removing large pieces with hands, wash out debris with clean water." She let her palm sink into the muddy water, the blood from her fingers mixing in, making the water slightly darker. She lifted her palm and watched as the murky water spilled from her fingers. "Not clean." She said in disgust. "This will have to do." Reluctantly she cupped her hand and brought it to her shoulder. She winced in pain as the water trickled down to her wound. The bleeding has not stopped.

"For large and deep wounds, seek medical help from the nearest clinic." She recited. "Definitely a deep wound. No clinic here. But this is going to need antibiotics." She looked up, the polygonal pieces of the sky in between the leaves of the trees light parts of her face. "I'm all alone here." She pulls on the hem of her shirt and wrapped it around her wound, applying pressure. "Stop bleeding with pressure."

A rustling in the woods caught her attention. She looked around, feeling apprehensive. She has been kneeling by the lake, completely vulnerable for at least fifteen minutes after a wooden spear had fallen, swinging like a pendulum from a branch, and struck her shoulder. It had only dawned on her that that might have been a trap set by a nearby tribute.

_I need to get out of here._ She thought.

She got up on her feet and started to walk away from the lake, taking her sack of food with her.

"If that wound doesn't clot fast, she'll faint." Vera said and she was right. The blood on Emily's wound had begun to seep through the cloth she had wrapped around it. She needed stitches.

Emily walked, almost jogged away from the lake. When she was about 500 meters away she started to slow down and catch her breath. Her lips had turned a pale pink, almost gray color. She had reached a small opening in the woods. Small enough to hide herself behind bushes but still big enough that she might lie down for a while to hide and rest. Her arm was hurting so bad; blood was slowly trickling down her makeshift bandage. She took a step forward and fell into a trap. She fell among leaves and twigs that had covered the dug up hole. It was almost eight feet underground. She fell hard on her bad arm and a pained yelp escaped her. She got up on a sitting position and found a girl standing above her.

_Sera Dodd, 16 years old_

_District 12_

The girl had short wavy brown hair. She looked just as mangled as Emily.

"Please." Emily begged when the girl took out a small knife from her pocket. "Please, we can be allies."

"You're wounded." Sera observed. "You'll only slow me down."

Emily couldn't answer her.

Sera reached into her backpack and took out a coil of rope. She threw one end to Emily and pulled her out from the ground. Once out of the ditch, Sera began to back away from Emily. Emily gets her footing, preparing for a fight she knows will bring her to her death.

"That's gonna need stitches." Sera only said and turned to reset the trap. "Just so you know."

"I know that." Emily shrugged. "Nothing I can do but change the bandage."

"You have a name?" Sera asked.

"Emily. Four."

"Sera. Twelve."

"Thanks for not killing me." Emily tried to smile.

"You owe me." Sera raised her brow.

Everyone in the room seemed to have heaved a sigh of relief. They spend the rest of the show cringing at the amount of blood loss. Fortunately for Emily, Sera spared her. When the show ended, Madame Jean sent them to their rooms.

Finnick crawled under his sheets, feeling sorry for all those kids who died today in the Arena. He twisted his piece of rope around his fingers, remembering how Sera had helped Emily. In his mind's eye, Finnick saw the worried face of Emily as she trudged up from the deep hole unsure if the rope between her hands were bringing her back to life or into the doors of Death. He wondered if _he_ would ever be as lucky.


	7. Finnick Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY**

**IT BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

**Finnick**

**Seven**

"Label the axes and plot your points." The teacher droned on and on and Finnick stared at his empty notebook, feeling useless.

_School is a waste of time. I could be learning how to hide myself underwater right now. Or how to make hooks out of nothing. Yes. Hooks would be useful._ He wrote down "Hooks" on his notebook and then pretended to graph the equation on the board.

Last night was terrible. He dreamt of Emily dying in the Arena and only when he woke up did he realize that maybe dreams do come true. Emily could really die. She had no training. She doesn't even know how to hunt. _I'd have a better shot if it were me_. He thought. His teacher was glaring at him now and so he ducked his head down and plotted his points. He didn't like this class because they actually had to participate. Most classes were lectures. All Finnick had to do was sit down and pretend to be listening. He liked those classes. It did nothing to fill his mind because it was already filled with thoughts of the "what ifs" of being reaped. As the bell rang, he gathered his things and shot out of the door. He untied his piece of rope from his ankle with a swift motion over his right foot and began twisting it around his fingers. He was about to pull his knot free when he hit someone.

Her things went flying to the air and her feet slipped across the smooth tiles. Finnick though was fast and caught the girl. "I'm sorry!" He gasped when he felt the weight of her in his arms. He was getting stronger now. Stronger than most twelve year olds in Four. "I'm so sorry." He let her go as soon as she got her bearings and, feeling embarrassed, he kneeled on the ground to collect her things. She was carrying a lot of books. He gathered her free pieces of paper as well and got to his feet. He looked at her for the first time and saw his eyes reflected in hers.

Sea green orbs resting between draped brown hair and a pale face.

She tucked her hair behind her ear before taking her things from Finnick.

"I'm sorry." Finnick said one last time.

"It's no problem." She said in a small voice, shuffling her things all into a single arm. "Here." She said extending her other hand to Finnick.

"Thanks." He said, taking his piece of rope.

"You're one of those orphan kids, aren't you?" She asked.

"Yeah." He said, "There's a lot of us here."

"I'm sorry." She tried to smile. "My name's, Annie."

"Finnick." He said clutching his rope into a fist. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"Yeah. Sure." She shrugged and gave him a small smile. "Bye, Finnick."

Finnick turned around and sprinted through the hall and into his next class. He felt hot and embarrassed. _No more walking around the halls while tying knots, the next could be worse_. He spent the rest of the day knotting and unknotting his rope under his desk. Doing this made him feel productive. Like he was training without having to be with Mr. Ross. Finnick didn't know where his fear was coming from. All the other kids here had their names in that glass bowl. It was a gut feeling. A hunch that he was so sure would land him into an Arena. The thought of being Reaped consumed him. Some nights, he would think that all these preventive measures might just jinx his chances and _really_ get him Reaped but, he though,_ At least I'll be ready when it comes to that_.

* * *

"Do you think I'll make it past eighteen?" Finnick raised his voice as Mr. Ross pulled a net full of shrimp on board.

"Don't ask stupid questions, boy." Mr. Ross gruffed. He always said this when Finnick was being dramatic. But it wasn't a stupid question. Not for Finnick.

"Did you ever think your daughter would make it to eighteen?" He said instead.

"Yes." Mr. Ross wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Get over here and help me recast the net." Finnick stood, tied his piece of rope back around his ankle and started on preparing the net. Mr. Ross sat on the bench, breathing hard.

"You know, "Finnick started as he threw the net down the ocean. "I could really take over for you if you want. I'm not after the money, I'll leave it with Coral. I just want to feel useful. And besides I like doing this." Finnick smiled.

"You're a bit too young to be out of school, son." Mr. Ross said. "And besides, my daughter refuses to take anything from me. Says she doesn't want to impose. Crazy. I'm her father, it's not imposing." Mr. Ross shook his head. Finnick decided not to comment on it.

"Why not? I'm good at this." He said instead. "I know where the fish hide. My knots are getting better every minute. Schools don't teach me things I have to learn to survive."

"Why do you think it's illegal to drop out?" Mr. Ross raised an eyebrow. "Besides, Nicky, if you leave school, you'll bring more attention to what we're doing here. I don't want trouble."

"Right." He sighed. "Sorry." They spent the rest of the afternoon making hooks out of wood and string because Finnick suggested it. He swam for a while, going as deep as he can without hurting his ears, or losing breath. He liked the feeling of being in open water now that he knows his way within waves.

"Hey Mr. Ross?" Finnick calls his attention as he dried his hair with his shirt. "What's your first name?"

"Brockton." He replied without looking at Finnick. "You have a last name?"

"Odair." Finnick said. "But it doesn't mean anything. I don't even know who my parents are or if they're alive. Or if it really is my last name." He liked to think that his parents were dead so that it wouldn't hurt so much if he thought about how he was left in the orphanage.

"Didn't Madame Jean say anything?" Mr. Ross asked, navigating the ship back to shore.

"We're not allowed to ask." He shrugged. "Not unless we get incurably sick or we get Reaped."

"That's a stupid rule." Mr. Ross said. "All you kids got the right to know where you came from."

"I think most of us don't want to know anything about our parents." He said in a low voice. He couldn't speak for everyone but that's what he felt for sure.

"Why is that?" Mr. Ross asked.

"Well because it'd be too painful if we find out that they're one of those people we see as we walk to school everyday." He said. "I guess, that's how I feel anyway."

"Odair, huh?"

"Yeah." Finnick thought about telling Mr. Ross that he didn't care who his parents were because he felt that he was as good as a father to him than anyone ever was. He didn't have the courage.

The ship neared the port.

"Well then." Mr. Ross said, "I'll see you next week?"

"Yeah." Finnick smiled and carefully dropped down the ladder.

"Practice your—"

"My knots." He looked up at Mr. Ross as he climbed down. "I know."

Carson was waiting for him at the port. Finnick jogged up to him and as usual, Carson walked ahead of him, talking about how much he's wasting his time. As Finnick lay in bed that night, he tried to resist untying the rope from his ankle. He kept it there for easy access. He liked tying knots whenever the thoughts of getting Reaped threatened his sanity. Tonight, he tried not to because his fingers were raw and at the point of bleeding if he pursued it. He closed his eyes and dreamt of a sea green ocean and brown sand. He thought he saw two figures following him but a different figure, farther into the open water took his attention and the two other figures disappeared into the fog.


	8. Finnick Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY**

**IT BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

**Finnick**

**Eight**

There were only a few weeks left before the Hunger Games is predicted to end. Emily Jenson died two weeks ago and her coffin was buried next to Vince Herron's in the Tributes' Cemetery. Finnick learned after her death the mourning for strangers was futile. Instead he used her death to fuel his need to survive. If in the moment he would be reaped, his fight would be to honor every child of Four who died in the Arena. Four too has moved on from mourning and refocused on its fishing industry. It was the Fishing Break for all the children in school. The break was for the teachers. They too had to serve in the ocean and help increase the produce. It was also the only time the children are allowed to help with the fishing labor. It only lasts a week and Finnick was determined to make it count. In the coming Reaping, after the Victory Tour, he would be ready. But being ready didn't make it any less terrifying.

He was turning thirteen in a few months. He bargained with Madame Jean to allow him to meet Mr. Ross without the need of Carson to escort him. Reluctantly, she agreed.

The ocean made Finnick feel at home. He liked the smell of salt water in the air and he didn't mind being constantly burned under the sun. Today was the first day of the break and he spent it in the middle of the ocean with Mr. Ross. He was learning how to use a weighted net and a spear or trident to catch large fish. It was harder than Finnick expected because large fish are hard to bait to swim closer to the surface but when the shadow of the great fish appeared, he moved like a well oiled machine. He drops the net and quickly spears the animal's head straight through the brain with his trident. He hauled the fish onto the dock, and watched as Mr. Ross nodded in approval as he pulled out the trident and began cleaning the blood from the tips.

"You need work on throwing the trident using the proper form." Mr. Ross commented as Finnick prepared the net again. "Proper form is key to agility."

"Right." Finnick said, swinging is trident arm. It was a peaceful afternoon despite the increased number of ships around. He saw familiar faces in the other boats and he tried his best to look like he didn't know what he was doing. They couldn't know that he was training. It wasn't a popular thing in Four but from what Finnick heard, in other Districts, children are practically enrolled into special schools that teach Games Survival. Finnick poured the bucket of bait into the water and waited for a large fish to take it.

"Why don't you take a swim?" Mr. Ross said behind him. He was sitting on the opposite side of the boat, wearing a hat. He said it in a suggestive tone but Finnick knew that it was mandatory. He began to set the spear down and remove his shoes when Mr. Ross spoke up. "Nope." He nodded to the spear. "Take that with you."

"But it's dangerous." Finnick said, confused.

"The waters in the Arena are dangerous." Mr. Ross said. "Take the weapon with you and bring back a large fish."

Finnick grabbed the net and tied it around his waist. He picked up the trident and tested it's weight in his hand. It shouldn't be too hard to swim with a single hand. He just had to concentrate on not stabbing himself. He pointed the trident away from his body and climbed over the railings of the boat and jumped. Before sinking into the water, the last thing he hears was Mr. Ross coughing. In the water, he felt lighter despite the weights on the net. That was partially good because the weight of the trident didn't add to the tire but the water made him sluggish. He tested his skills and tried to raise the trident over his head and finally, he felt the weight of the trident and the force of the water work against him. From the corner of his eye, a shadow of the big fish aimed for the bait. Finnick ducked under water and saw the fish circle under his feet. Finnick was floating next to the bait so, to redirect the attention of the fish, he swam away to show him the bait. Only a few feet away from the bait, Finnick saw the fish rise closer to the surface to eat. Finnick clamped the trident between his legs, holding his breath as he sunk because his feet had stopped pedaling him afloat. He used both hands to untie the knot of the net around his waist. He heald the net in one hand and reclaimed his trident from his legs. The fish was about to swim away. He couldn't let it get far so he swam toward it. Probably sensing his struggle, the fish increased it's speed and swam deeper underwater. In a split second, the fish had disappeared.

"Argh!" Finnick gasped as he rose from the water. He swam for the ladder.

"Thoughts?" Mr. Ross greeted him with a raised eyebrow.

"No nets when I'm in the water." Finnick tried to catch his breath. "Slows me down."

"Did I ask you to take the net?" Mr. Ross asked.

"No." Finnick sighed. He felt frustrated. "I need more bait."

"We only have five buckets left, son." Mr. Ross reminded him. "Learn from your mistakes."

"I will." Finnick said, dropping the net and taking a bucket of bait. "I have."

He poured the bait into the water and prepared to dive. He jumped high and landed far from the landing point of the bait. As he swam back up to the surface, he waits for the fish. One arrived after a few minutes and Finnick prepared to launch himself into the air even before the fish reaches the bait. He traces its shadow in the brief moment that he was in the air and threw his trident. It landed on the middle of the body of the fish and, underwater, Finnick saw the fish struggle and then die. He swam toward it and pulled his trident out. He mustered all his strength and launched the trident up on the boat.

"Trident coming, watch out!" Finnick called. He heard the trident clang onto the boat. He's holding the fish by the tail and climbing up the ladder when Mr. Ross peered over the edge of the boat.

"Don't waste good bait, Finnick!" He called.

Finnick looked back to the bait area and found a larger fish swimming toward it. Finnick was about to throw his trident when he realized that he'd already casted it away.

"Damn it!" He cursed. He hauled to fish onto the boat and let the larger fish swim away with his bait.

"Thoughts?" Mr. Ross asked again.

"Never let go of my weapon." Finnick grumbled.

"And?"

"The bait can be used more than once." Finnick said.

"More than once if you're smart and fast enough." Mr. Ross said. "Get another bucket."

Before taking another bucket of bait, Finnick took a very long piece of rope and tied to the base of the trident. He took the other end of the rope and tied it around his ankle.

"Smart." Mr. Ross smiled. Finnick poured the bucket, held onto his weapon and dove. At the end of the day, there was no more buckets of bait left but there were eleven large fishes on the boat. Finnick was tired. There were cuts around his ankle from the tight rope around it carrying the weapon. He had swallowed a gallon of salt water and his eyes burned. His right arm was sore from throwing the heavy trident over and over again but he was happy. He felt weathered and bruised but he felt productive. He was cleaning his trident with fresh water when Mr. Ross called him to sit. He dried his hands and set down the trident and came over to his teacher.

"Sit. I need to tell you something" Mr. Ross nodded to the barrel and Finnick sat on it.

"What is it?" Finnick had a feeling that whatever Mr. Ross was going to say was bad news. Finnick felt like knotting ropes to calm his nerves.

"I'm sick." Mr. Ross said.

"Sick?" Finnick looked at Mr. Ross and noticed how skinny he'd gotten. He didn't notice sooner because he'd been spending so many weeks with him in the ocean but now it was more prominent than ever. "What of?"

"Cancer." Mr. Ross said. "It's my throat."

"How long before…" Finnick trailed off. He could not bring himself to say anymore.

"A couple of years." Mr. Ross said. "More if I can get my hands on a cure but that's impossible."

"Why?" Finnick asked dumbly.

"Money, son." Mr. Ross said. "I haven't enough to pay for it."

"But there has to be another way." Finnick said. "You can't die." _If you do, I'll have no one else to train me._ The thought made him feel so selfish. But Mr. Ross couldn't die because he's as good as a father to Finnick.

"Money." Finnick whispered.

"The cure is expensive." Mr Ross said. "I'd have to take the cure for the rest of my life for it to sustain me. Even with the technology in the Capitol there is still no one sure way cure to cancer. But it wouldn't matter. There is no money."

"This job." Finnick started. "This job. It's going to kill you. You can't spend your days here. You have to rest. I can work, Mr. Ross. If only you let me. I can do it. I can take over and earn the money you need to get better. I'll do it."

"Stop." Mr. Ross said. "You're not quitting school for an old man. If you do, they'll find out I'm training you. Besides the money you'll earn in a year from this will still not make a fourth of the fortune I need to purchase a year's worth of medicine. I've tried. I've _been_ trying."

"I can sell my things." Finnick said desperately even though he had very little to call his own. "I can make weapons too and sell them. I won't have to miss school to do it."

"It's not your job to take care of me." Mr. Ross said.

"Then why tell me you're sick in the first place?!" Finnick was angry. He felt helpless. He had no money to donate, no labor specialized enough to earn it and yet he had so much to lose if Mr. Ross died. _He's the closest thing I will ever get to a father._ He thought and it made him want to cry.

"I wanted to be honest with you." Mr. Ross sighed. "I felt like I owed it to you."

"I'm sorry." Finnick sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Get back in the water." Mr. Ross said after a round of silence. "The sun is yet to sink into the horizon. We have a lot more time to train."

Reluctantly, Finnick dove back in.

Later that evening when Finnick arrived back at the orphanage, he refused dinner. He showered and went directly to bed, pulling the sheets over his head and holding his piece of rope. He didn't have the strength to make knots. His whole body was sore from training. He was thinking about how unfair it is for the poor to have such short lives because everything in the world that he knows required money. He _needed_ to find a way to help Mr. Ross. He needed to live long enough to see him turn nineteen and be free of the Games at last. _The Games!_ The epiphany rolled over him and finally he found a solution. His mind folded itself into the idea so quickly that the path was suddenly so clear to him: _If I'm Reaped as a Tribute, I can have a chance to win. If I win I could pay from anything and everything Mr. Ross and his family would ever need. The only way to make sure I would be Reaped is to volunteer._

And with that, at least for Finnick, the 64th Hunger Games couldn't come sooner.


	9. Annie Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOY**

**IT BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

**Annie**

**One**

Dear Diary,

I'm writing to you from the beach. No doubt my parents aren't looking for me because if they did, they would have already found me here. I always come to the beach when I feel scared or overwhelmed. I like the smell of the ocean and the feel of the sand. I wish I brought my swimming stuff with me if I knew I'd end up here.

From afar, I can see the piers. There is a single boat there that always leaves earlier than the rest. It's just the old fisherman and his kid. I always see the old man in the pier whenever I come here in the morning. Sometimes the kid would be with him, most of the time, the old man is alone. I focus on the sunrise instead. I take a deep breath and stretch my legs in front of me.

Emily Jenson died last night. She was betrayed by her ally from Twelve. Killed her in her sleep with a quick knife through her back and into her heart. I saw the tip of the knife glinting against the moonlight as it peaked through her chest and out her thin shirt. She didn't even cry out but you could see her body tense up and her eyes suddenly wake with the pain and after a few seconds, she let out a small sigh. And that was it.

It was as if she was already dead and the knife just poked a hole in which her soul could seep out of. Mother cried when the canon fired. Father removed his hand from my eyes. He didn't want me to see but I know he knows that I was peaking through his fingers. That night, I crept out of my bed and into my parents'. I didn't want to sleep all alone in my room, fearing that Sera Dodd would somehow make her way out of the Arena, come over to my house and stab_ my_ back while I slept.

The Jensons were good friends of the family's. When Emily's name was pulled out by Michael Brox, Aunt Dory Jenson went crazy. Uncle Ben Jenson held himself together to calm his wife but lost it as soon as he saw Emily faint on stage. It was Mother and Father who helped them into the Justice Building to say goodbye to Emily.

I liked Emily. She was my babysitter whenever Mother and Father would go out to fish. She let me brush her hair and color in her school notebooks. As I grew older, I was allowed to stay alone in the house but I always wished Emily would drop by. She never did.

In the morning, I woke up to the smell of fish frying on a pan. On good days, Father would spare a fish and cook it for a meal. I rushed out of my parents' room, wondering what the occasion was. I ran down the steep stairs and found both my parents in the kitchen.

"What's the occasion?" I asked even though I didn't care what the answer was.

"We're celebrating Emily." My mother smiled but the sadness in her eyes was apparent. She set the table and I helped her place the plastic plates before pulling a chair for myself. She placed a bowl of warm soup on the table and three pieces of bread rolls.

"She was very brave in the Arena." My father said. He set the plate of fried fish on the table and took a seat. We all held hands; the three remaining Crestas in Four.

"To Emily!" My mother said.

"To Emily." My father and I repeated.

We didn't eat the fish. I dipped the bread in my bowl of soup instead. My father packed the fish up when we unlinked our hands. It was tradition if you were friends of the Tribute's family, to send them something special if their child dies in the Arena. It's a sign of condolence and unity in times of hardship.

We knocked on the Jensons' door, just a few meters from our own home. As the three of us stood there, I could feel the desolation almost pulsing from the whole home. Inside, I could hear Aunt Dory wailing. Her cries sounded like glass shattering and birds screeching. A low voice tried to comfort her. Uncle Ben. But you could tell that _his_ pain radiated a different kind of sorrow, one that can never be appeased. Their cries made me want to run away but my father's hand clasped over mine, rooted me in place.

After a moment, Uncle Ben opened the door. My father immediately embraced him, letting go of my hand and putting it over Uncle Ben's shoulder and around his broad back. Uncle Ben looked like he was deflating. His tears ran down his face and his whole body sank into my father's arms.

"I'm so sorry, Ben." My father said before letting Uncle Ben go. My mother leaned in to him and gave him a light kiss on the cheek and a one-hand embrace before handing him the plate of fish.

"We're here for you." She said nodding at Uncle Ben, making him look at her. "Anything you need. Anything at all. We're here."

I peeked through the door. Aunt Dory was sitting on one of the sofas. Her face in her palms, her whole body shaking uncontrollably. I wondered how painful it must be for her, to lose a part of herself with one swift motion of a knife. I wondered if Emily ever felt this kind of pain on the night she was killed. I wanted to bad so to go to Aunt Dory and tell her that everything would be okay and that Emily was going to be okay too. But even my eleven-year-old mind can comprehend that nothing was ever going to be okay and that the uncertainty of what came after life could not assure that Emily was better off there than in the Arena.

"I want my daughter back." Uncle Ben sighed and more tears came rushing down his face. I pried my hand away from my father's, turned back from all the sadness and ran away.

I ended up here in the beach. The sun is up in the sky now, lighting the ocean and making it glitter. Most of the boats have shipped out, ready to reclaim nets filled with shrimp, crab and fish.

I've been here for about two hours now, Diary. Maybe I should go home. My parents would be disappointed in me, no doubt. We were supposed to show a united front, ready to shoulder the burden of Aunt Dory and Uncle Ben but instead I ran. I had to. Surely they would understand that. I would have gone _mad_ if I had to watch Aunt Dory sob into her palms for another second.

Until the next time,

Annie.


	10. Annie Chapter 2

**DISCLAINER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY**

**IT BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

**Annie**

**Two**

Dear Diary,

He carried my books for me today. I was in the hall, in front of my locker. I knew he'd pass through this hall after second period because we both had third period Reading together. He's a few years older than me but he got held back because of poor marks so I've had the pleasure of sharing a classroom with him. I hauled my books out from my locker as slow as I can so that timing would be perfect. As I was pushing my locker door closed with my right foot, he finally passed by.

"Hey, Finnick!" I clutched onto my books and smiled as he took a step back and turned to my direction. He looked tired. His blond hair was matted and uncombed. He had dark circles under his eyes but when he looked at me and smiled, he looked almost genuinely happy. I hoped he was.

"Hey…" He paused and fiddled with his piece of rope. I've seen him play with that piece of rope over and over in class. His eyes fluttered from mine.

"Annie." I said, reminding him. He looked back at me and grinned nervously.

"Right. Annie, hi." He tied the rope swiftly around his ankle and extended his hand. "Let me help you with those."

"Thanks!" I smiled and tried to keep the butterflies in my stomach under control. He took most of my books from me but I kept two for myself.

"Where to?" He turned his head to me as we walked and shook his head slightly to move his hair from his face.

"We have Reading together." I almost laughed.

"We do?!" I smiled, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Annie. I don't really pay attention in school very much."

"It's alright." I nudged him with my elbow. "And I expect you forgot we are to discuss Rowling today?"

"I haven't really been _present_ in school in general." He said. We turned the corner and he let me through the door first.

"Is everything okay? I know Vince was your friend from the orphanage…" I set my books down on my usual seat and I noticed he set his backpack down on the chair next to mine.

"Vince and I knew each other since we were kids." Finnick sighed as he took his seat. He reached down to his ankle and untied the knot.

"I know how you feel." I sat down as well. "The Jensons are a family friend."

"It's just the way life is." He shrugged and began turning the rope in his hands.

"The Games are only temporary. Once we get older we won't be part of the Reaping anymore." I tried to reason but we all knew luck was luxury that even the richest in Four could not secure. I waited to see if he would say something else but he made himself busy with his piece of rope again. I wondered where he goes when he's practicing his knots. I hoped it made him stronger.

When class ended, he jumped out from his seat without even saying goodbye. As I gathered my books, I noticed a small piece of paper under his desk. I picked it up and saw his messy notes of Rowling and how he only copied until the history part of the lecture. At the end of the page were notes entirely unrelated to the discussion.

_Train harder. Volunteer. Win. Pay for medication._

_It won__'__t be that easy, Finnick._

_Do it for Mr. Ross._

_Do it for Mr. Ross._

_Do it for Mr. Ross._

Who's Mr. Ross and why was Finnick going to risk his life for him? Medication for what exactly? Training?!

I folded the piece of paper and tucked it into my pocket. I've stapled it on the page after this entry so I won't lose it. Looking at it now, there can only be one course of action: I've got to tell his mother about his plans. It would be difficult for Mrs. Trevor but she has to know her son has just signed on for death row.


	11. Annie Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY**

**IT BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

**Annie**

**Three**

Dear Diary,

So here's what happened. Hold your breath because it's bumpy ride.

I knocked thrice on the door of Mrs. Helen M. Trevor. She answered at once and said, "Good morning, Ms. Cresta!" The woman, blond hair and hazel eyes looked down at me with a pearly white smile. "What can I do for you today?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Trevor." I was nervous. I hardly slept last night. I was wondering whether I should talk to Finnick first or go to Mrs. Trevor directly. She was always nice to me because I had walked into her office once when she had too much to drink. She was crying and cradling a bottle of hard alcohol, half empty, on her lap as she rocked back and forth.

"_Mrs. Trevor?__" I gulped then, my palm around the doorknob, sweating. "Should I come another time?"_

"_Annie?__" She turned to me, her golden locks wet with sweat and tears. She started to get up but fell back. I ran to her side and pulled the bottle away from her. "__Oh Annie.__"_

"_I think I should take this away." I said dropping the bottle into the trash under her desk._

"_He would be old enough to be part of the Reaping now." She shrugged as more tears seemed to run down her face like a water fall._

"_Who?" I sat beside her, not knowing if I should stay or call for help._

"_My son.__" She shivered uncontrollably and began to sob again._

"_I didn't know you and your husband had a son." I looked at her perplexed because I've always known that it was only Carina Trevor who shared a family tree with our school principal._

"We_ don'__t.__" She looked up to me, her hazel eyes swimming in an ocean of tears. "Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing all those years ago. I was so young. So young and I couldn't possibly take care of a child on my _own!_ How was I going to tell my parents?!"_

"_Mrs. Trevor, I think I should go now." Her fingers were wound tightly around my wrist and she looked up at me as though waiting for an answer to all the nonsense she had just drunkenly shared to me. _

"_How old are you, honey?" She sniffed._

"_I__'__m __eleven__.__" I said. "Please, Mrs. Trevor is there anything I can do for you?"_

"_One more year." She wailed. "Are your parents preparing you?"_

"_They're helping me be strong." I gulped. She let me go then and began crawling to the trash where I threw out her drink._

"_Mrs. Trevor, I__'m going to go now." I got to my feet slowly._

"_But I haven't signed your hall pass yet." She was rummaging through tissue papers and pulled out the bottle. "Silly me! I think I called you up here to approve your speech?"_

"_Right." I took the folded papers from my pocket and showed it to her. It was my speech for the moving up ceremony. "I think maybe I can just leave this with your secretary?"_

_She was drinking from the bottle again. Pieces of damp tissue were stuck to the bottom of it. "Can you do one more thing for me, Annie dear?" She paused, her eyes closing and her head lolling back and forth. "Find my son." She dropped the bottle and it shattered on the floor. She fell back and started to snore. I turned her to her side before leaving to call her secretary in for some help. I didn't want her to choke on her own vomit._

She looked at me then with clearer eyes. She stepped aside and I went into her office again. I sat in front of her desk and she smoothed down her skirt as she took the seat across from mine. She smiled again.

"Remember what you told me that afternoon?" I figured there was no use in small talk.

"We agreed not to mention that afternoon anymore." She smiled but none of the warmth was returned to me.

"Mrs. Trevor, please." I looked back at her. "I think I found your son."

"That is impossible." She seemed to deflate. "I left that baby with no name and no contact details. There is no way for either parties to unite. I have come to peace with that, Annie. Honestly, I have."

"There is only one orphanage in this district. In that orphanage there are only _four_ who are the same age as your son. Two of them have blond hair. One has platinum blond hair, almost silver and the other is the same shade as yours. Golden and almost a bronze on the roots." Mrs. Trevor's hands travelled to her locks. She quickly realized this and put them back on her lap.

"Ms. Cresta," She took a deep breath. "I appreciate all of this—passion in searching for the son I had given up but it was a drunken request. I was not in the right state of mind to have been making such wishes especially from a student."

"Mrs. Trevor please—"

"No." She cut me off. "It's a silly thing to meddle in lives of children and to base family relations on hair color. _Thank you_ Ms. Cresta but I no longer wish to tie knots with my first born child. I am happy with my decision and content with my family. Now if you would please hand me your hall pass, I would gladly sign it for you."

"But Mrs. Trevor, Finnick plans on volunteering at the next Reaping!" I blurted out before she could say something else. "He's going to die in the Games if you don't stop him!"

"Finnick Odair?" She dropped her pen and stared at me. "Finnick Odair." She said again as though to feel the name leave her lips.

"I'm sure he's yours." I inhaled.

"You shouldn't have told me, Annie." She whispered. Her eyes darting left to right, her brows meeting at the bridge of her nose. "Annie there is nothing I can do for him." She was talking to me but she was whispering almost as if to reassure herself that she has no ties to this boy she left behind thirteen years ago. Her eyes started to fill with tears again. "There's nothing left between us."

"He plans to volunteer because he thinks he'll win, Mrs. Trevor." I took her hands to keep her with me in this plane of reality. Her fingers felt cold in my smaller hands. She looked back at me but she felt miles and miles away. "He thinks he'll win but he won't. He'll lose his life for some Mr. Ross he thinks he can save."

"How do you know all of this? Mr. Ross?" She pried her hands away from mine and got to her feet. She turned to face the large cabinets behind her and began rummaging through one of them.

"I saw it on his notes. He dropped it as he left class." I opened my bag and ripped the note from this diary and handed it to her. "I swear to you this was his. It's in his handwriting."

She was pulling out a file from the cabinet. She set the folder down on the desk and I saw Finnick's smiling face on the photo stapled on the first page. My note sat on the desk, ignored, as she and I read through the file. A large stamp was printed on the area reserved for family background: Abandoned: No legal files available.

"Haven't you ever let yourself read the files of the orphaned students in your own school?" I whispered and immediately regretted it, fearing that she would reprimand my rude comment.

"I never let myself." She replied quietly, still looking at Finnick's student file. "I always let my secretary handle the orphaned files because it was far too hard for me to see those children who grew up without even the luxury of a family." She closed her eyes and rested her forhead on her palm. "I shouldn't have abandoned him. I didn't know. I didn't know then how important a mother could be until I had Carina when I was older, married, and _not_ drunk."

"You have to stop him."

"How can I? What right do I have over his actions?" She sighed and rounded the corner of her desk and sank on her chair. "He would probably hate me if he knew his mother was just in the principal's office."

"Do you love him?" I asked her.

"Does a mother have a choice?" She shrugged and wiped a tear from her cheek. "I let him go all those years ago because I was scared. I was able to hide my pregnancy from my parents but how would I hide the baby?! I was drunk when it happened because my friends and I were celebrating our freedom from the Reaping. When I woke up the next day, I was naked and alone in a shabby old house along the favelas. A month later, I missed my period. I don't even know who the father is."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Trevor."

"Don't be, Annie." She stood and closed the folder. "I shouldn't be unloading all of this on an eleven year old. Please forgive me, Ms. Cresta."

"I won't tell anyone if you promise to reach out to him." I stood straight, "Whatever reaching out means to you. Just try to change his mind about volunteering."

"Why do you care so much for this boy?" She sat down again, probably feeling exhausted.

"I don't know." I shrugged. "I guess I just don't want to see another person I know suffer in the arena the way Emily did."

"You're kinder than most people I know, Annie." She smiled at me. "But if Finnick wants to volunteer, even after I've introduced myself, then there is nothing we can do. He has the right to volunteer, no matter what his reasons are."

She's given up before she's even tried. It's different when you know Finnick. There's a tragic story behind him and he doesn't even know it. It's difficult when you know someone in the Arena. It's harder and more painful. I don't know why but I don't want to see Finnick suffer. It will be the death of me.

We'll see where this goes, diary but for now this is what's been going on so far.

In other news, tomorrow is my mother's birthday. I want to do something special for her. I'll come up with something.

-Annie


	12. Annie Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES TRILOGY**

**IT BELONGS TO SUZANNE COLLINS**

**Annie**

**Four**

Dear Diary,

It's fishing week again. My family helps out during fishing week by catching small fish and selling them around the district. So much of the people are concerned with catching a lot of the big fishes for export to the Capitol but very little of us are assigned to fish for our own people to eat and survive on. We have a boat but I prefer to swim with the fishes. I'm meant to lure them into the net with bread but most of the time I get carried away under the water and spend the afternoon just feeding the small fish. My mother scolds me about it, saying that I'm wasting bait when I forget to trap the fish but they don't swim with the fishes so they don't know how beautiful they are. They're smart too. Years and years we've spent fishing here and the fish have learned to avoid floating dead bait because the've learned that it means they're being trapped. We've adapted to manually luring them into nets. Fish are caught off guard because they don't expect to be caught when a human is in the water with them.

Today it was just me and my father. Mother opted to stay with the Jensons to keep their home tidy as they grieve for Emily. I like the water, how when I swim it cancels out the sound and chaos of boats and ships and the near distance, casting their nets and hollering at each other to establish territory over their area. My dad's small boat wasn't too far away but whenever I let myself sink under water, I liked to pretend that it was just me and the water. I like the way the bubbles travelled from my mouth and up to the surface. I'd follow their path with my eyes and watch as they pop under the sun. The fish came nibbling on the bread enclosed in my fist. It was quite enchanting when I realised that it has been a while since I rose up for air. As the school of fish started to form around me, I started to swim closer and closer to my father's boat. They gather around my hands, devouring the bread, sometimes even mistakenly biting my skin. I let what's left of the bread flow out of my hands and it falls right at the centre of the net my father set. My chest starts to tighten so I kick my legs and flap my arms like wings. As soon as my head poked through the water and out in the air I hear my father scolding me.

"Annie!" He said. I turned around, wiping the salt water away from my eyes, "Don't ever stay down for that long! I was scared to death, you'd drowned!"

"I'm a good swimmer, Dad." I say. I kicked my way up to the boat and he pulled me out.

"Still." He says. "If you'd drowned today—"

"If there's any place I would die, it would be anywhere _but_ water." I tell him with too much confidence. "Besides, I got the good fish today." I grabbed another piece of bread from out bucket and placed it between my teeth as Dad started to haul the net full of tiny fish up to the boat. I clamp my toes over the edge of the boat and dive as far as I can. Back in the water there are less and less fish to trap. They got scared off when the net rose, so I swim farther. We've filled about seven buckets with fish, we usually settle with five but I didn't want to stop swimming. There's no fish in this area so I rise from the water and lay back on the surface, feeling the sun touch my skin and feeling the bread getting soggier in my hand. In the distance, I can see an old and beaten boat, the same boat I saw the morning Emily died. Docking in and out of the Pier earlier than the rest. I let my feet sink in the water and get in an upright position. Although it's quite far, I can still make out the faces of the people on the boat. An old man, sickly, and balding. And a boy with blond hair, stronger, and doing all the work. I watch him dive from the high plank of the boat with a large trident in hand.

That's Finnick Odair. No doubt.

I watched him go in and out of the water, each time with a bigger fish in hand, each time he looked more aggressive. The orphanage mustn't have much to spend on what they need. My father starts to call me back so I swim back to the boat, leaving the dissolving bread behind me for some lucky fishes.

"No fishes." I say as I get back onto the boat. "Got scared away."

"Seven buckets is good." He says. "You did good, Annie."

"How much will that get us?" I ask.

"Enough not to let you enter for tesserae this year." He says and I heave a relieved sigh. "Come on lets go back to the Pier and sell this. Tomorrow we'll be back."

Back in the Pier, I removed my slippers so I won't have to clean them. We haul the buckets to the store and exchange them for money. We come home to an empty house. It's Mom's birthday only a week ago but none of the festivities every remained in the house for long. We're too wrapped into Emily Jenson. I take a quick shower and settle down on my bed for the night.

I think about Finnick and wonder if Mrs. Trevor ever got to him. School is cancelled so she doesn't have access to him but I wonder if meddling into this boy's life was a good thing. Maybe I should have just stayed out of his way. Let him walk down the hall without making him carry my things or picking up notes that he dropped in class. Maybe I shouldn't have told Mrs. Trevor about him at all. I shake him away from my thoughts. Who knows, maybe this is a good thing. Maybe Mrs. Trevor, with my help, will be able to talk Finnick out of volunteering.

Now, I'm wondering why this kid out of all of the boys in school is such a red herring for me. There's something about him that makes me feel responsible. Makes me feel that I have to watch over him or make sure he's alright. I don't even know much about him. He doesn't know much about me either.

Diary, I need friends.

I can't wait to get back in school to get Finnick Odair out of my mind.

My mom woke me up this morning. Her eyes were swollen. Of course. She has been crying as though Emily were her daughter.

"Wake up, Annie." She said and I propped myself on my shoulders. "I realised I haven't invested much time into talking to you about the Reaping."

I scratch my eyes and shrug. This year was my first year being part of the Reaping. It terrified me but somehow, I knew it wouldn't be me. I have a sixth sense about these things. Things that can potentially turn bad. I can feel it in my bones when something horrible is about to come. I realised at that moment that maybe that's why I feel so responsible for Finnick. Something bad is going to happen to him. I don't know when, or how, but something terrible is going to happen to him.

"It's alright, Mom." I said and gave her a quick hug. I could hear Dad in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for us. "I'm alright."

"I remember my first Reaping." She said and made me stay on the bed. "It was horrible. Worst time of my childhood. I stood there with the other girls thinking about my life, thinking about that if I was reaped now, I wouldn't have left anything worth being proud of."

"But you weren't reaped." I smiled. "And now I'm here and it's my turn."

"Just listen to me, Annie." She placed her hands on my shoulders and made me look at her. "Whatever happens next year, whoever is picked next, promise me you will never volunteer. No one is worth it. No one will ever be worthy of your life."

"I'm not going to volunteer, Mom." I said. "I was never thinking about ever doing that."

"I've spent eighteen years in that square, dreading to be picked." She said. "But there comes a moment, if you're lucky it will only happen once but for others it happens more times, when you will want to volunteer. You will feel pity for someone younger than you and decide that it's not fair for them to be there. That it should be someone else on that stage. It will only take a split second for you to think that it can be you instead. When that thought crosses into your mind, look for me in the crowd and I will tell you what to do."

"Ok." I said.

"For whatever reason, Annie." She continued. "Don't ever willingly bring yourself on that stage and into an Arena. Promise me."

"I promise." I said, thinking about how maybe my mother thinks that I will volunteer out of love or out of desperation but I will not. I am determined to grow old and die on my own time. I wonder who my mother thought of volunteering for.

I spent the rest of the next day with my father, fishing in the ocean in silence. I don't try to look for Finnick anymore. After a night of thinking, I realised that there is very little I can do now that I've sent Mrs. Trevor on his way.

Till next time,

Annie.


End file.
